


Kinda Sorta My Best Friend

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://no-tags.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://no-tags.livejournal.com/"><b>no_tags</b></a> challenge for prompt 43:  Patrick/William, pre-FOB/TAI teenage years, experimentation. Title from one of my favorite Prince songs - "When U Were Mine".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinda Sorta My Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the general encouragement and awesomeness. Also thanks to [](http://airgiodslv.livejournal.com/profile)[**airgiodslv**](http://airgiodslv.livejournal.com/) for the prompt

  
Patrick slumped against the wall, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers, flashing pale wood batons in quick circles in front of where his knees were drawn up to his chest. “Liar.”

“Fuck you.” William’s voice barely carried across the room, his sore throat making him sound older, like he’d found his way through puberty unlike Patrick and the rest of their friends, all still navigating their way through it.

“You can and you know it. It’s not like you’d be the only one.” He ignored William’s irritated look, far too used to it to pay it any mind. William wrinkled his nose in Patrick’s direction and sighed, his voice taking on a distinctly froggy tinge.

“Fine. Name one.”

“Mel Tillis.” Patrick smirked triumphantly and twirled the sticks again, settling them into his hands and drumming across William’s bedroom floor, a hard staccato beat from something he was working on, something that wasn’t quite working.

“He doesn’t count,” William informed him regally, tilting his chin up so he was looking down his nose at Patrick. “Name a _single_ Mel Tillis song.”

“ _‘Coca-Cola Cowboy’_.” Patrick pointed a drumstick at him. “ _‘I Got the Hoss’_.”

“You’re not human.”

Patrick smirked, knowing he’d won, but not quite willing to leave the battlefield yet. “Carly Simon.”

“Yes, _’You’re So Vain’_ is a perfect song for this moment.” William tossed his pillow at him, but Patrick just batted it away. “C-country or middle of the road pop. Wonderful ch-choices, Patrick. Really.”

“B.B. King.” Patrick watched William’s eyebrows went up, the only sign he was listening to what Patrick was saying rather than just the words. It was also the first real sign of interest. “John Lee Hooker.”

“Now you’re making shit up.”

“Nope.” Patrick got off the floor and moved over to William’s bed, sprawling across the foot of it. He always felt slightly awkward around William like this, the differences in their bodies more pronounced when William turned and sprawled out on his stomach next to him. Patrick’s legs barely extended past the edge of the mattress, while William seemed to go on for another mile or so down to the floor.

“It’s a nice fantasy,” William stretched, his body lengthening more. “But that’s all it is.”

Patrick sighed and rolled his eyes, tugging the bill of his cap down further on his forehead. William’s ceiling was a strange spackled gray, watermarks and lines intersecting the uneven surface. “So you’re just going to play guitar for shit bands when you know you can sing.”

“They’re not _completely_ shit bands. Besides, singers are front men,” William reminded him, turning over as well to watch the ceiling. The room felt like it was swaying as cars rumbled past on the nearby freeway, William’s body shaking the bed. “C-can’t be a front man like this.”

“Yeah, well, Prince is a five-foot, three-inch recluse who doesn’t talk to reporters, who changed his name to an unpronounceable character, and he’s a front man.”

“So obviously the answer is to make a movie and become famous _first_ and _then_ start stuttering.” William turned on his side, propping his head on his hand, long fingers buried in his hair as he looked down at Patrick. “Now we have a ‘ch-ch-chicken and the egg’ c-conundrum.”

Patrick’s stomach rumbled. “Oooh. Is there food?”

William laughed, the fingers of his free hand settling on Patrick’s stomach just as another rumble sounded. “Is that all you think about?”

“I’m a fourteen-year-old. I think about food, TV, video games and sex.,” Patrick laughed. “I’m a growing boy.”

“I don’t know,” William gave Patrick a dubious glance. “I think you stopped growing at some point.”

Patrick elbowed him in the ribs and then stuck his tongue out at him. “And you _won’t_ stop. I imagine if you combined us together, you’d get two normal sized human beings.”

“Where’s the fun in normal?” William traced the design on Patrick’s shirt with light fingers, giving it up when he reached the last letter of the “Aladdin Sane” logo. He replaced the touch with a guitar riff, tapping lightly. “I’ve met normal people. They’re boring.”

“You’re comparing everyone normal to Carden. That’s not boring, that’s what we call sane.” Patrick’s hand settled on the back of William’s, changing the music against his skin. “You should never compare anyone to Carden. Or Carden to anyone. Or be alone with Carden in a dark alley.”

“Mike’s a pussycat.” William shifted slightly and turned his hands over, letting Patrick’s fingers play over his palm. Patrick stopped playing the song in his head and instead traced the lines of William’s hand, the rough calluses of his fingertips sliding across the smooth skin. William didn’t say anything, didn’t pull away and Patrick let his fingers slide up to William’s wrist, feeling the pulse there. “But I appreciate your c-concern.”

“It’s entirely personal, I assure you.” Patrick traced small circles on William’s wrist, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. “If you got murdered, they’d look at me first. It’s always the best friend.”

“I thought it was always the wife. Or the butler.” William’s voice was soft and Patrick could feel the hint of William’s breath on his skin. “Or the jealous lover.”

“Maybe the butler is the jealous lover.”

“Or maybe the wife is jealous of the butler.”

Patrick smiled and opened his eyes, surprised to see William so close, his bangs falling into his eyes. “Or maybe the lover is jealous of the butler’s wife?”

“Maybe.” William smiled back, his eyes darting down to Patrick’s mouth. Patrick couldn’t help the swift lick of his lips, his tongue wetting them under William’s stare. They watched each other and Patrick was fairly sure years passed, ages swimming by them and when he looked away, they’d both be covered in wrinkles or at least old enough to drink.

Patrick licked his lips again and lifted his head, going on instinct rather than anything resembling knowledge. William’s mouth was warm, lips damp from his own tongue as he fit them over Patrick’s. It was another stretch of forever as they pressed against each other’s mouths, not really kissing, but not _not_ kissing, breathing each other in. He pulled back just enough to see William’s eyes, to watch them as William opened them slowly, lashes and bangs all tangled up together.

“What was that?” He knew it was a stupid question, especially given that he’d been the one to _do_ it, but it still slipped out. William shook his head slightly and his tongue sneaked out again, wetting his lips once more.

“The butler?”

“What,” Patrick laughed softly, feeling the huff of William’s answering amusement against his mouth. “Not who.”

William’s hand shifted against Patrick’s stomach, slipping away from the touch of his fingers. Patrick started to frown, but it faded into an indrawn breath at the feel of William’s fingers sliding underneath Patrick’s t-shirt, fingers warm and making the muscles of Patrick’s stomach tremble.

“What…” Patrick closed his eyes and closed the gap between them, fitting his mouth to William’s again. This time it was a kiss, lips pressed together until Patrick’s tongue darted out, catching at the seam of William’s mouth and pressing, sliding inside the strange heat of it. He let himself get lost in the sensations, wondering how things so familiar – the rough and sharp edges of teeth, the slick surface of the roof of his mouth, the smooth slide of tongue – felt so foreign when they were William’s teeth, the roof of William’s mouth, the pressure of his tongue. He tasted and felt every surface, exploring as much as he could until William’s fingers tightened against Patrick’s stomach, nails scratching his skin startling a soft moan from Patrick’s throat.

“Oh,” William whispered against Patrick’s mouth, shifting his hand so that his palm was flat on Patrick’s abdomen, his fingers splayed up toward Patrick’s nipples. Just the thought made Patrick’s body tighten and he could feel the tension in his chest, his thighs, his dick.

“What…” Patrick’s hips rolled upward as William leaned in further, his mouth taking up where Patrick’s had left off. The kiss was both different and the same under William’s control, and Patrick pressed his thighs together tightly to try to alleviate the tension coiling inside him. “W-William.” He kissed back, again, hungry for a taste, alternating between seeking out new depths of William’s mouth and the shivering intensity of William’s tongue sliding inside his mouth.

William’s free hand pushed Patrick’s cap off his head, fingers threading in Patrick’s hair. Everything felt alive and intense, magnified, exploding and imploding inside him. He reached out, settling his hand tentatively on William’s hip, fingers curling into one of his belt loops. William’s fingers tightened and he deepened the kiss, body shifting over Patrick’s so that his thigh slid between Patrick’s legs.

“Oh,” Patrick gasped, his hips rocking up to meet the solid pressure of William’s body. “William. Oh. Oh…fuck.” There was a shimmering heat, blackness and bright lights flashing behind Patrick’s eyelids, obscuring his vision. William was gasping breathlessly in Patrick’s ear, unsteady breaths that sent sparks down Patrick’s spine.

They both lay there, not moving, for a long time until the air around them settled, their breathing falling into rhythmic patterns, harmonizing. “Well.” William swallowed, his voice soft and unsure. Patrick nodded, vaguely aware of the changes in the air – the room had been chilly then too warm and now it was cold, wet denim sticking to his skin. William shifted, no doubt just as uncomfortable as Patrick. “That was…”

“Yeah.” Patrick couldn’t move. “So what…”

“I’m not singing.”

Patrick blinked and then looked at William, unable to keep from smiling. Whatever had just happened wasn’t as important as winning an argument. Typical Beckett. “Bet you fifty bucks.”

“You don’t _have_ fifty bucks, Stump. You have a moderate talent at instruments and p-pretty eyes.”

“Well, with both of those, I’m pretty sure I can _make_ fifty bucks.” Patrick laughed and then twisted, half-lying on William, body heat taking something away from the cold. “Or we could take it out in trade.”

William shoved him off. “You wish.” He shucked off his jeans and briefs, using his pants to clean himself up before grabbing sweats and pulling them on. “Hang tight. I think my sister might have something you can wear.”  



End file.
